Of Dogs, Gods and Chuuni
by TheVulpineHero1
Summary: A collection of comedic oneshots featuring the cast of the QP Shooting universe. Some shipping. Rated S for Syura.
1. Favourite Customer

_A/N: Hey there, and welcome. After a long, long period of not writing, I did some 100% Orange Juice fanfiction to practice up, and kept it on a little blogspot to show to basically four loveable nerds in a discord chat. But then I noticed: there wasn't actually an OJ category on yet. Well, welcome to the result of that observation._

 _For a little preamble: these pieces probably aren't connected canonically, or if they are, are only very loosely so. You should consider it a collection of oneshots. They're all set in the QP Shooting - Dangerous! world, and almost all of them are goofy comedy. Additionally, I don't own any of these characters, and since they're shmup characters with all the depth that implies, they'll probably veer off from canon in the process of me fleshing them out. Enjoy!_

* * *

Aru's ears drooped. Despite being a functional killing machine equipped with the powers of flight, seasonal gifts, and spewing bullets out of her face, she was still beholden to her lapine nature. Some part of her would always dislike loud noises, unnatural tastes and arguments, and the look on Arthur's face told her that an argument was well on the way.

"Hey, Mr Shopkeeper. Give me a cola, with plenty of ice," Syura commanded. Syura was petite, redheaded, and completely unaware of her own particular place on the food chain. There was a certain smugness about her that screamed Stage 1 boss, in Aru's opinion.

"Do this look like a grocery store, kid?" Arthur growled, his eye twitching behind his dark glasses. The butt of his cigarette, held loosely at the corner of his mouth in defiance of all smoking laws, crumpled as his jaw begin to grind. "We don't stock cola."

"Who cares if you stock it? I asked for a cola. A real, hot-blooded merchant would see this as an opportunity," Syura replied, half wheedling, half scolding.

"Oh, believe me, my blood is boiling right about now. I'm a businessman, not an errand boy. How about you take a little walk around the block and get a cola yourself?"

"Hey, I'm doing you a favour, _businessman_. You know how much time and money _real_ businesses spend on analytics to figure out what their customers want? I just told you for free. It's my first time in this shop, my frenemy is showing me around, and I want a cola. Make it happen," the girl said, puffing out her somewhat unimpressive chest. "Of course, I'll pay you extra for your time. I'm not an unreasonable lady."

"That's just because you ain't a lady," Arthur sighed. He stubbed out his cigarette in a cheap ashtray on the shop counter, and blew a leisurely ring of smoke. "...How much extra we talking about?"

Syura smiled a catlike smile, and launched her negotiations in earnest. She was a veteran of videogame bartering systems and economics; she knew how much a broadsword was worth and how much an adventurer could expect to be paid for slaying their first novelty giant-sized rat. Arthur, on the other hand, knew how to use his stern looks and rough voice to gouge a price. It ought to be a close contest, Aru thought, but it was better than an actual fight. Assured that she would have no need to administer some concussive diplomacy, she turned her attention to QP.

QP was a regular customer at the Rbit Room. In fact, she was _the_ regular customer. Not everybody had the temperament, discipline or desire to learn the ancient arts of the battle bunnies. In fact, the general, uneducated consensus was that these arts did not exist, which was a definite problem when it came to paying the bills. Yet QP would wander into the shop after school like clockwork, clutching her allowance in her hands, carefully inspecting musty tomes on rabbit warfare and then asking if the contents could, perhaps, be summed up in the form of a limerick or a haiku to help her understand them. Aru was not particularly good at either, which lead to memorable offerings like:

 _Glimmer of power,  
_ _You are the pew-pew windmill  
_ _What up, it's Orbit_

Regardless, the dog girl always seemed to appreciate the effort, because, as she said, it came from the heart. She had a talent for seeing the best in everybody that Aru, as a result of her own duty to peer into the hearts of children across the globe and pronounce a select portion of them to be naughty in the sovereign eyes of Santa, had difficulty fathoming. QP did not, for instance, see Arthur as a grizzled, chain smoking, questionably ethical merchant motivated only by raw greed and the fear of Aru's retribution. In fact, her opinion of Arthur seemed to stop at "tall", which was a small mercy for all parties involved.

"What brings you here today, QP? We're always delighted to see you, but are you looking for anything in particular?" Aru asked, ignoring the intense economic debate going on between Syura and Arthur.

QP scratched her nose. "Well, uh... Actually, Syura was just being really weird, and I needed an adult. The closest thing to an adult I know is a big bullying cat who throws darts around everywhere and leads an evil organisation dedicated to taking over the world, so I decided you were my next best bet."

"You keep such interesting social circles," Aru murmured.

"I don't really _keep_ them. I'd throw them back into the ocean if I could. I just keep running into strange people and they stick to me," the dog replied mournfully.

 _Ah, so she's acquired a quirky stable of friends she doesn't really like that much,_ Aru thought. _She's finally begun to mature as a shoot 'em up protagonist._ She left that unsaid, and tried a different tack. "I'm happy for you to hang around as long as you like, but I don't really understand... Syura is your friend, right?"

"Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"It's ambiguous," Syura said proudly, having paid Arthur four times the going rate for a cola and sent him on his way. She was flush from what she no doubt considered a victory. "Nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Syura, embryonic developer of videogames. One day, I will hatch into a beautiful game dev swan!"

Aru fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Very interesting social circles, indeed. What exactly was she doing that was so weird?"

QP opened her mouth to talk, but Syura beat her to it. "I wasn't doing anything weird. In fact, I was being generous, and telling my unemployed friend here how I'd give her a job when I get my studio all set up."

"She wants me to wear a maid outfit," QP added, mournfully.

Syura shrugged. "Well, of course. Your head is full of pudding, so I can't let you handle any of the code. All you'd need to do is flutter around the studio, bring me tea, address me as master, let me rest my head in your lap and massage my temples whenever I get tired of looking at the computer screen, and then occasionally do some light debugging. It's a cushy gig!"

"The rest I could deal with, but the debugging is too much! It's sexual harassment! Tell her, Aru!" the dog said, and clung to Aru's arm like it was a anchor against a flood of madness.

Aru, however, had transcended her mortal form and was roaming in the magical world of her own imagination. A girl with dog ears _and_ a maid outfit? Surely it was too much power for one mortal to have. The amount of money and popularity that she could amass in the hidden circles of the world was astronomical. A very small part of Aru - the part that mourned as it watched the Rbit room go into decline, the part that wanted to eat quality food instead of economy rice day after day after day - whispered in the back of her head, telling her that she should harness that power.

Another part of Aru had gone in an entirely different direction. QP was her favourite customer, but she'd rarely ever seen her wearing anything but her school uniform. Putting aside the maid cosplay, which was too dangerous to think about in public, she wondered what her friend would look like in more classically feminine clothes.

"Aru? Earth to Aru? You zoned out for a little while there," QP called, waving her hand in front of the rabbit's eyes.

"While drooling," Syura added helpfully.

"Yes, well, um, shop harassment is against sexual rules. I mean, sexual harassment is against shop rules!" the rabbit replied, feeling a trickle of sweat wind its way down her forehead.

There was a moment of silence. Then there was another moment of silence, consecutive to the last. Moments of silence began to shunt into each other like minecarts on a crowded track. Overpopulation of moments of silence began to threaten the national ecosystem, and local government authorities sent out an all-points bulletin to park rangers announcing the sad necessity of a cull. Then, at last, Syura spoke.

"Fine. I'll allow it. You go on ahead, QP. I want to actually look around this goofy little shop and drink my cola."

QP, anxious to escape and run home for a cup of well-earned pudding, seized the chance and trotted out of the shop. Syura watched her go, a wide smile on her face. After the dog had been gone for a good few seconds, she turned to Aru, and grinned. Aru blanched.

"...Were you looking for any merchandise in particular?" she tried.

"No," Syura replied, shrugging. "I was just thinking that maybe we share some interests, you know? We could be great friends. Hey, hey. Take a look at this for a moment."

She produced a phone from her pocket, and began pressing buttons faster than Aru could comprehend, her fingers no more than a blur passing over the screen. Before long, she had found what she was looking for, and presented the phone to Aru, her chest puffed out with pride.

On the screen was a picture of a maid uniform. It was high quality, dyed sumptuous black with a pristine white apron. It was also very short. Aru felt breezy just looking at it.

"So, let's skip the formalities and get down to business. I think that with enough prodding, I can get QP into this thing. How much are you prepared to pay for pictures?"

"...Make me an offer," Aru said, making a steeple of her fingers.

"20 apiece?"

"20?! Listen, _friend_ , I asked you to make me an offer, not make me angry," Aru growled, warming to her part. Arthur was a hard nosed, occasionally crooked businessman. Aru kept the Rbit room in business and still had enough left over to buy toys for the world's children at the end of the year. Negotiating was her strong suit. "For 20, I'd want fifteen minutes of lap pillow and the skirt would need to be at least two inches shorter."

Syura looked at her, blank eyed. Then, slowly, she began to smile. "You know what, Aru?" she said. "I think we're gonna get along _great._ "

* * *

 _A/N: I'm not really sure how to characterise Syura except as a semi-obsessive agent of chaos yet, but one thing I learned from doing these pieces is that Aru is best bunny. (Also, it feels weird that this is the first story in this category, and I, of all people, am submitting it.)_


	2. Free Lunch

_A/N: This was my joke 'valentine's day' special. What I found out is that Krila is the best._

* * *

Even in a world full of mythical beasts and godlike battle-maidens who could strike down the unworthy with only a few sparse clusters of glittering bullets, there was one rarity greater than any other: the legendary 'free lunch'.

Aru knew this. She knew that other, less savoury things often masqueraded as free lunches to trap the unwary, like a mimic assuming the form of a treasure chest before it gobbled down a greedy adventurer. But then bunny in red was, well, in the red, and a lunch she didn't have to pay for in cold, hard cash might be worth the price extracted.

"So, Aru," Syura began, assuming her businesslike smirk. "I assume you want to know why I invited you for lunch today."

"I want you to tell me what you want so I can refuse outright before we start negotiations," Aru replied grumpily.

"That's why I like you, Aru. You always cut straight to the chase. Oh, Krila, if you're hungry you can eat the rolls."

Krila, although bemused at being summoned by a girl she rarely interacted with, needed no encouragement. The lady in black was also, perennially, in the red.

Cleared of any obstacles to her moral dubiousness, Syura adopted her most businesslike voice, which was not particularly businesslike at all. "What I want in exchange for this lunch is very simple. From you, Aru, I want information. Specifically, how far you've gotten with QP. And Krila... well, I don't actually know what I want. I felt sorry for you, I guess. Just try to act like a normal person long enough to gossip with me about my best friend's love life, and we'll call it square."

Krila nodded vigorously. "I shall make the attempt, but I warn thee, the mantle of banality may be too great for my dark soul to –"

"I'll take it. Aru, you can start."

Aru glowered, and tapped her index finger against the pristine white tablecloth. "The answer is nil. We're friends. We were hungry at the same time and place. We ate lunch together. She paid. The end."

The waiter arrived, brandishing breadsticks and condiments. Krila seized upon them with a force that might well have been demonic. Aru had never before seen a girl consume an entire breadstick without chewing, but she was pretty sure it broke public indecency laws. Aru and Syura looked at each other.

"Krila," Aru said quietly, "Has anybody ever told you that you should consider performing at birthday parties?"

"With the right audience, I think we – I mean, you – could make a lot of money," Syura added.

"Of course!" Krila said, squeezing her doll close to her chest. "I have performed my Dark Shadow Boundary Dance on numerous occasions. All I require is a sacrifice of tiny sausages and chunks of cheese, impaled on the same length of unholy wood."

Aru decided that Krila was an utterly innocent babe and, as a gesture of mercy, decided to omit certain words in the last sentence from her memory.

After a moment of bemused silence, Syura returned to the point at hand. "But you went for lunch together! There was a time, a date, two pretty women that I most definitely don't feel attracted to on any level. There must be _details,_ and they have to have been scandalous. All details are."

Aru looked around the crowded restaurant, at the linens and the candlesticks and the happily besotted couples surrounding their table, and began to worry about a number of things. Her stomach, however, continued to growl, and she settled for just appraising the nearest convenient escape route rather than fleeing immediately.

"What am I supposed to say?" she asked, holding her palms up. "The food was good. The company was good. We talked about socks. She has radical opinions on socks that I don't necessarily agree with and wouldn't want to repeat around innocent children."

She broke off to look meaningfully at Krila, then continued.

"I don't really know what details you expect me to have, or how they could be anything interesting."

Syura heaved a deep, indulgent sigh, like a teacher about to bestow a valuable lesson upon a wide-eyed schoolchild. "Well, there's the question of what restaurant it was, and who picked it. Remember before you answer that I'm buying you lunch."

Aru groaned. _There_ was the leverage she had been expecting. If Syura decided she didn't want to pay, Aru didn't have the funds to cover it. She'd have to dine and dash, and as an upstanding citizen and as a business owner who understood the true weight of the transgression, she couldn't allow herself to do it. Her hands were tied. But, she thought, there was a way out. If she simply ate as many complementary breadsticks as she could, she could leave before the meal was served and still not be a bad person. It was a risk, since if she ate too many breadsticks and stayed she would ruin the value proposition of the meal by not being hungry, but it was a gamble she was willing to take.

"We went to that little tavern place by the market. The one where you sit on barrels instead of chairs. QP suggested it," she answered at last, trying to sound as defeated as possible. If she seemed like she'd lost, she could maybe get away with being sparse with the details and Syura would assume there was nothing else to tell. She quietly stuffed a breadstick into her mouth.

Krila's eyes widened. "Oho! I happen to know that those barrels are in fact casks of dark essence, in which swim the Serpents of the Braided Venom Willows. You have my respect for surviving such a trial, as does the Holy Beast Maiden."

"Krila, I don't know what you just said. I just heard a string of nouns," Syura said cheerfully. "But what I _do_ know is that that place is _super_ romantic."

Aru looked at the candlelit dinners being dispensed around them, and wondered if, like the average videogame character, Syura just didn't have the equip slots necessary for a sense of irony.

"What did you eat?"

"I had braised vegetables. She had steak." Aru ate another breadstick.

"Ugh. That's so unfair. She should be, like, a ball of dough by now. You get meat, or you get sweets, one or the other. And if you get both, you get fat," Syura groused. Krila, upon hearing sweets and steak being discussed in the same sentence, began to drool. "Did she try and make out with you?"

With the most absolute calm, Aru picked up her glass of water, took a hearty swig, and immediately sprayed it back out.

"Such commitment!" Krila murmured.

"I guess it's true what they say. A true artist makes their own opportunities rather than waiting for opportunities to show up," Syura nodded.

Aru, having achieved the required dramatic effect, set her glower to stun. "Don't you think that question skipped a few steps? You could have asked if we held hands, or gazed deeply into each other's eyes, or anything, but you went straight to making out?"

Syura shrugged. "Go big or go home."

"I agree! What would you rather face, Rabbit of Crimson Moons: a dragon, or a really _big_ dragon?" Krila asked.

"Right now I'd rather go home. I've had enough breadsticks to make this worth my time," Aru said, standing up.

Syura's mouth hung open in a little gasp as she leapt to several conclusions, all of them wrong. "She did, didn't she? Did she have dog breath? I bet she had dog breath. You should carry some mints around in case she tries to kiss you. I know I do."

Aru groaned, attracting suspicious looks from any number of surrounding lovebirds. "That is, in order, wrong, probably wrong, and _really weird_. I'm leaving."

"Waitwaitwait _wait!_ " Syura gasped, lunging over the table and catching hold of Aru's sleeve. The candle wobbled precariously and would have toppled, but for the timely intervention of Krila. With a speed and clarity that she had clearly purloined from a ninja, she shot out a hand and seized the candlestick. Unfortunately, she squandered any kudos from her endeavour by suddenly realising that not so very far from a sword, and immediately attempting to wield it in the name of the forces of darkness.

"Aru, I'm sorry. Listen, I probably pushed you too far, but... I just wanted to do the romantic gossip thing, like in all the VNs I read. I never get the chance to, because my best friend is QP and she's totally like a dense RPG protagonist when it comes to romance."

"I agree with you there. She's like a dwarf star. You just can't avoid getting caught in her gravitational field."

The two looked at each other and, for a moment, smiled. Krila stole a candlestick from another table and began dual wielding, finally living her lifelong dream of levelling in the rogue class, so that one day she could prestige into an assassin. For a brief moment, the world was at peace.

The chef, having heard the commotion, marched out of the kitchen with her kitchen knives in hand; Aru recognised her as Natsumi, and briefly marvelled at how small the world was. The knives began to fly, and the world returned to the natural order of things.

* * *

"Hi, Aru! I came again today. Hey, what happened to your face?"

QP, her face full of concern, pointed at the band-aid on Aru's cheek. The bunny winced, and searched for an excuse that didn't involve being violently ejected from a restaurant with two weirdos.

"I cut myself shaving," she said, studiously looking in any direction apart from QP's.

"You shave?" QP asked, blinking.

"My legs, yes."

QP's brain worked for a moment, before filing the anomaly under 'too much effort' and continuing on the path of the conversation she had planned on having. Aru noticed her fiddling with the hem of her dress, and felt her own heart sink.

"Sooooo, um, I don't know if you know this, but there's a rumour going around that you and Syura were eating together at a romantic restaurant, and I just wondered..."


	3. Fear Response

Arthur was not, by any means, a small man. If you took his ears into account – and it would be unwise for your continued wellbeing not to – he stood at almost seven foot. The bits of him that were not ears (which were surprisingly soft and delicate) were invariably made of tight, wirey muscle, the kind that back alley brawlers aspired to and chefs would discard as being too manly to cook.

As such, there wasn't too much that he was scared of. Certainly, there was Aru, but Aru seemed to inspire the same vague, existential dread in almost everybody she encountered. The girl always felt like she was judging you, and that her judgement had some pretty hefty weight attached to it. She also would occasionally go out at night and come back, bruised, swollen and scarred, with the excuse that she had had a sudden urge to go and fight bears. Arthur wasn't an idiot. He was fairly sure that she wasn't fighting bears, but he was also fairly sure that whatever fights she got into she won, and by a very wide margin at that.

He discovered his second fear on a peaceful Thursday afternoon, when a young man burst into the Rbit room sweating profusely and yelling. Arthur peered at him over the top of his sunglasses; the boy was wearing a school uniform, but not one that Arthur recognised.

"Where?! I saw him come in here!" the boy shouted.

Arthur put down the glass he had been polishing. He sometimes forgot he didn't work in a bar, and spent two to three hours polishing the same glass with a rag. It soothed his thirst for justice, in ways he could not even begin to fathom. "Oi, oi. Quit yelling in my shop. Now tell me what you want."

The boy looked Arthur up and down; the rabbit saw the boy's eyes go to his feet, up to his face, his feet again, and then to the tips of his ears. Arthur grinned, and forsook his traditional slouch to stand up straight, a practice known in the world of shady business as 'looming'. Arthur was very good at looming, and was rewarded by the boy tensing his entire body at once.

Despite that, his voice was cool and languid when he spoke. "I saw a boy dressed in girl's clothes come in here. Where is he?"

"A boy?" Arthur snorted. "Listen. You and me might be the only males ever to have set foot in this shop. We have an exclusive clientèle. And trust me, kid – I don't think you're it. If you're looking for boys dressed as girls, look somewhere else."

The boy's eyebrows narrowed. He had fine features – maybe a little too fine. But his shoulders, now that Arthur looked at them, were surprisingly broad, and his steps were a little heavier than they should be for a guy his height. The looked Arthur square in the eye, a defiant set to his jaw. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, pitifully straining against the humid summer air.

"That boy," the young man said, touching his palm to his chest, "is my most precious person. If I have to fight you to get to him, then so be it."

It was traditional, at this point, for there to be a moment of silence in which the challenge was allowed to resonate. Arthur was not particularly interested in tradition, and burst out laughing immediately. "Heh. That's somethin' else, kid. I don't know anything about this boy you're looking for, but I can see you're too dumb to listen to your seniors."

"And I can see you're too ignorant to give up the game. This is why unrefined men like you make me sick. You have no respect for the finer feelings of a man's soul," the boy spat.

Arthur felt his jaw grinding, and he took two very firm, deliberate steps towards his opponent. "You're real brave to come in here and talk to me about a _man's_ soul, _boy_. Lucky for you, I got a little sympathy left for idiots too dumb to back down. Come over here. I'll teach you how men settle things."

He made a show of turning his back to the boy, and set down a stool on either side of the shop counter. They were good stools. He had once hit a man in the head with one and the stool very resoundingly won, to cheers from the audience. It went on to become champion of inanimate objects MMA for two consecutive years.

"We'll settle this with an arm wrestle. If you win, I'll help you look for this precious person of yours. If I win, you're going home."

"And if I refuse?" the boy asked archly.

"Then you're a coward, and you're going home in an ambulance," Arthur said, putting his elbow on the counter. "Your choice, kid."

"Tch. Fine. But I won't hold back for a brute like you."

With that, the boy did something that Arthur wasn't expecting: he started to quickly unbutton his shirt. The motions were practised, efficient. With one final flourish he tossed it to the floor, revealing a body packed with a surprising amount of muscle, glistening with sweat from his earlier running. He looked Arthur in the eye, and smiled wanly. "Having second thoughts?"

Arthur groaned. "Kid... this is getting' weird. I don't know if you did that to throw me or what, but it ain't gonna make your arm work any better."

"What? Don't you have the confidence to do something like this? I thought you were a bigger man than that," the boy taunted.

It was bait. Arthur knew it was bait. Rabbits knew bait when they saw it. But with all the testosterone and talk about men's souls, he wasn't about to let some skinny punk have anything over him. "I can't believe I'm doin' this. But men meet on a level playing field," he said, undoing his collar.

That was why, when she came home from a lovely lunch and strode into the shop from the back entrance, Aru found two very sweaty, half-naked men holding hands and grunting profusely. But Aru, although rather a smaller rabbit than Arthur, was quite used to weird occurrences. She turned to QP, who had dropped her bag of shopping to the floor in absolute open-mouthed astonishment, and said, in the lowest voice she could muster, "Maybe we ought to come back later. A lot later. Maybe we could stay at your house...?"

Aru's lowest voice, however, was not low enough. The violet-haired boy glanced at her. He glanced at QP. His face did an interesting manoeuvre where it rearranged all its features twice before settling into the delighted expression a crocodile wears when something swims towards its jaws. He said one accusing, breathless word.

"Kyupita."

Aru looked at QP. QP looked at Aru. Arthur looked at his opponent, who had ceased paying attention and had his hand smashed violently against the counter.

"Aru? I'm really, really sorry," QP said, putting her shopping on the counter. Then, in a voice that was shaking perhaps a little too much to be called 'calm', she said something else.

" _Hyper Mode._ "

As the growing swell of luminous bullets overtook him and began shredding the structure of the shop, Arthur – at long last – found something he thought worthy of being feared.

* * *

 _A/N: I had a great deal of fun with this. Definitely a manly chapter, for mans._


	4. The Space Between

_A/N: I was reading cyberpunk novels, and wanted to try out a sharper, more noirish style in comparison to my own, which is more to do with long, flowing sentences - and, true to form, I got a weird, serious piece out of it. Also, this piece is exactly 1000 words long, minus the Author Notes._

* * *

She grimaces, rolls a token between her forefinger and thumb. They're surrounded, hemmed in by a wall of noise. Pennies fall through slots to be fired pneumatically and land atop an ever increasing tide of bronze, carrying prizes that will never fall. Slot machines vie for attention with harsh, manufactured noise. Somewhere there is the thump, thump, thump of a heavy footed dancer attacking the pad. A roiling, messy soundscape.

"I don't get it."

QP ignores her. As usual. QP has such a lot going on. She came back the other day having 'saved pudding', and has barely glanced at anybody since. What was lost during that time, Syura wonders? What had put such distance between them?

Even here in the arcade, Syura's home turf, she doesn't blink. The noise doesn't affect her. She just plays, like Syura asked her to. Mechanical, efficient movements. A mind far from here.

"QP. I don't get it."

"You just dodge. Dodge and shoot. There isn't anything else," is QP's reply. Her spaceship darts around the screen, weaving between walls of bullets. Syura lost all her credits on stage 3. This is stage 5.

"Not that. You. I don't get you."

For just a moment, QP's expression softens. She looks uncertain. Troubled. But it's only a second, a misstep in the march of time. The distance returns to fill the space.

"You don't react anymore," Syura says. Her voice is accusing, too accusing. She wants to take the words back and put them together better. Too late now. "You hate the arcade. You have sensitive ears, and the noise makes them hurt. All the flashing lights make it hard to focus. That was what you said before. Every single time."

QP says nothing. Syura looks at the stains on the floor, the flickering lights, the gum stuck on the cabinets. Anywhere but her friend's face.

"Syura… Listen," QP says. Hesitant. Unsure. A stray bullet collides with her, but she ignores it. "I've been going through some changes lately."

"Changes?" Syura scoffs. "It's like you're a different person. Like I barely know you."

"I… got a job. A really important one. There's so much to get used to, Syura. It's taking up so much of my brain. So much of me."

"So you're putting your job before your friends? I didn't think you were that sort of person." The words are bare, tree branches in winter. Nothing can grow from words like that.

"It's not my choice. It won't be forever, okay? Just until I get used to it all."

Syura says nothing, lets the sound of machines fill the gap between then. Inside, she's panicking. It feels so serious. So unlike their other fights. If it won't be forever, why does it feel so permanent? They're standing right next to each other, but so far away.

"I don't get it. I don't get it at all. You're meant to be the straight-forward one. The happy one. Why are you like this?"

QP turns to her, and the pale-blue glare of the arcade cabinet bathes her features in an unreal light. "I don't know, Syura. It isn't your fault. It's… It's not like I hate you, okay? It's nothing like that."

Syura bites her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. When did QP's shoulders get so rounded, so hunched? When was her tail so listless, her eyes so red? Words are bubbling inside her. Too many words, all at the same time. How do you tell somebody you love them and you hate them at the same time?

"I… I'm not accepting this, okay? I don't care what your job is. You can't get rid of me just like that. It's not alright." Syura's fists, balled at her sides, are shaking. She struggles to hold in hot, angry tears. "Keep playing that dumb game, QP. But when you get to school tomorrow, I'm gonna… I'm gonna beat you up. If I lose, I'll beat you up the next day. I'll fight you, and I'll fight you, and I'll fight you, until one day I knock some sense into your thick head and you get back to normal. You got that?!"

She turns tail, and flees. It makes her look like a child, but anything is better than letting QP see her face right now. QP watches her go; her hand stretches out as if to catch her, but her legs don't move. She feels a growl building deep in her chest, a reckless anger.

"Sweet Breaker."

She appears, or perhaps she was always there, her long hair falling down her back, a sympathetic frown on her face. Her voice is quiet, but cuts through the noise of the arcade like a blade. "Becoming a god is difficult, QP. I know."

QP takes a step, two. Dangerously close. "I don't _want_ this. You took away the thing I loved, and I took it back. Now everything is a mess."

"If I hadn't, pudding would have caused a catastrophe. I didn't have any choice. Just like you have no choice," Sweet Breaker replies. Her voice is not unkind. "It'll be over in two weeks, a month. Maybe sooner."

QP feels the growl building it, fights it down. "I hope you're right. This isn't fair to her. Or me."

"She's a good friend. She'll wait," Sweet Breaker says, and her voice is wistful. "I had a few like that. They don't last forever, you know. You should make it up to her."

She turns, takes a step behind one of the cabinets, and is gone: consumed by the lights, the noise. Only the memory of her lingers, melting like chocolate on the tongue. QP groans, surrounded and at the same time very alone. She rolls a token between her fingers, like Syura always does, before slotting it into the machine. She'll need the practice. Two weeks, a month. Maybe less. Her hands move mechanically. Efficient. Her focus is almost divine. But yet… but yet…

Her ears hurt.

* * *

 _A/N: This story is pursuing the idea that, post-QP Shooting Dangerous, QP is slowly turning into one of the Sweet Gods, and the transition is not effortless._


	5. Game Master

_A/N: This is like, 200% Memes Juice. I wrote a 100 word drabble where the QP bunch were playing DnD; somebody asked me to continue that into a full length piece. There are various other in-jokes as well. I apologise for nothing (although I personally don't feel like this one came out that well.)_

* * *

"QP, roll for diplomacy."

A clatter of icosahedrons hit the table. There was enough table to hit. Despite her talents as a flying engine of death and sadness, QP had a laissez faire attitude to accuracy; usually she just fired wildly until whatever she was fighting strayed into her path, which would have been laughable if she didn't output more bullets than a munitions factory. Thankfully, Syura had a dining table bigger than some train carriages, which meant QP hit more often than not.

As Syura totted up the roll and mangled the result with her formulae, Aru folded her arms across her chest. Aru did not, particularly, like role playing games. She hated pretending to be somebody she wasn't. She hated pretending that she didn't know things when she did. In short, she hated being reminded that she lived a double life already, and was never quite sure which half was the act – the half that was a cosmic holiday entity, or the half that had friends.

Still, the alternative had been letting QP and Krila brave Syura's attentions alone. Krila had a beautiful, childish innocence that Aru found naturally endearing. QP had a set of legs that Syura had expressed designs on. Both of them needed to be protected, and the newly-minted Aru the Barbarian was just the bunny to do it.

Aru had only picked Barbarian because Syura assured her it was a simple class. It was, to a certain extent. QP had to worry about being a social maestro and casting the odd, intricately detailed spell or two; Aru, on the other hand, only had to worry about her thews, which were huge and glistening and entirely imaginary. Imaginary Aru was armed with a battleaxe that would no doubt have snapped Real Aru's spine in half if she tried to lift it; real Aru, on the other hand, had armed herself with half a brick in a sock, a weapon revered by wizards the world over. Even Syura's curiously dense skull would yield to the almighty brick-sock.

Unfortunately, even that hadn't fully divested the pint-size poultry protector of her odd insistences, because shortly after everybody had picked their class, she had brought out a rail of cosplay equipment. QP – having wisely picked the class showing the least skin – was duly outfitted with a crown, a coronet and a carriage dress that left her looking like she'd strolled straight out of a history book. Aru? Aru got a faux fur tube top and a matching loincloth, because sartorial elegance was apparently a cross-class skill for a barbarian.

Syura, wrapped in the mysterious black cloak of a true game master, gave QP a prod. "Now you gotta make a persuasive speech, or the roll doesn't count."

"Dark Ninja Krilalaria! I, Princess QP, command you to do the stuff that the plot says I want you to do!" QP shouted. QP wasn't particularly paying attention to the minutely detailed backstory that Syura had supplied, but she did enjoy shouting.

"And if I refuse, zam?" Krila replied, in a beautifully rendered stock villain voice.

"Then I won't give you my melon bread at lunch tomorrow!"

"U-ugh… Servant of light, have mercy! To cast a famine on my people… You, bunny-eared barbarian! Have you nothing to say about this injustice?"

Aru nudged QP's thigh under the table. "It does seem like we're a lot more ruthless than the bad guys are."

"That's what being good _is_ , Aru. You give evil an inch, they'll take a mile. It's better to scare them away from trying by making a few examples. That way, there's less fighting and less bloodshed," QP said, flashing a pointed look at Syura, who had doubtlessly been given more inches than she deserved. "Besides, the alternative is for you to chop them in half. That doesn't seem nice, either."

Aru, although she would never admit it, could have gotten behind a brief spell of chopping people in half. Syura had gone into great detail about how the blade of her battleaxe was made of high grade, tempered steel, inlaid with with runic prayers to the various totems of Aru's imaginary people. But she had yet to chop so much as an apple with it. QP, it turned out, was a dangerously efficient problem solver, using a combination of natural wiles, real life leverage and a blunt ignorance of the rules that Aru didn't entirely believe was genuine.

Krila turned to Syura with teary eyes. When Syura asked her if she'd help out by roleplaying some of the villains, she'd jumped at the chance – not yet realising that the side opposite QP was not the wisest place to be. Syura sighed.

"Fine, fine. Dark Ninja Krilalariat submits and leads you to the treasure room. QP, you gain 100 exp. Aru, you gain 75 because you didn't do anything and you were out of character."

"Pardon me? How was I out of character?" Aru asked, glowering.

"You're a barbarian," Syura said, and shrugged her shoulders. "Barbarians are supposed to be all 'rawrg' and 'BLOOOOOD!' and stuff. You were super reasonable."

"Now you're just being classist! What's wrong with a thoughtful barbarian? Look at my wisdom score! I could dual class as a philosopher with a score like that!"

"I still can't believe how high your attribute rolls were," Syura pouted. "If I didn't know you so well, I would almost believe that you were _cheating_."

"Yes, well," Aru retorted, folding her arms across her chest, "If you knew me a bit better, you'd know that I always keep a lucky rabbit's foot on my person. Two of them, in fact."

The atmosphere in the room became icy. Thankfully, Krila had no sense of mood. "Master of Dungeons, may I return to being the cleric of the beast god?"

"Fine."

Krila jumped out of her chair and crawled underneath the table, reappearing a good fifteen seconds later in the chair next to Aru. She took off her hachimaki and replaced it with a cardboard pope hat, and seemed vaguely out of breath.

Syura leafed through her notes behind the screen, stopping once every so often to tut loudly. "Alright, the ninja leads the bossy princess and the world's laziest barbarian through the caves of slaughter that I wrote three entire encounters for and into the cave of Sacred Ninja Treasure. Among the mountains of scattered gold coins and glistening gems, three treasures stand out: the Orb of Balance, needed to revive the Chicken Goddess, a beautiful tiara glistening with rubies, and an axe with the head carved into the likeness of a roaring tiger."

"I want to lore check the tiara," QP said immediately, narrowing her eyes.

"You're a princess, not a bard."

QP, sensing Syura's reluctance, immediately pounced. "Which means I have nothing better to do than sit around all day reading musty tomes of ancient lore. Oh, and I have plenty to pick from, because I have free access to the Royal Archives. Lore check, please."

"Make it an assisted lore check. As a barbarian, enchanted weapons and equipment are very relevant to my interests, and I have the intelligence score and smithing proficiency to back it up. QP, would you like me to roll?" Aru interjected.

"Please do, my faithful bunnyguard."

Aru let fly her die, and watched as it bounced its way to a formidable natural 20. Syura also watched, although she seemed markedly less pleased by the result. Just as Krila saw playing the villain as an exalted position of responsibility, Syura had assumed the mantle of a fair and just game master, and refused to let it go. According to her, cheating would breach the sanctity of the game – despite the kind words in the manual encouraging her to fudge the occasional roll or two.

"Ugh. You reach deep into the caverns of your collective skulls and realise that it matches the description of a legendary artefact, said to imbue the wearer with all the skill of a different class."

"And?" QP prompted.

Syura's eyes narrowed. "'And' what? You got your lore check."

"How many times have we played games together, Syura? How many cups of pudding have fallen under our deadly spoons? I know you, and I know you're hiding something," QP said imperiously. She turned to Aru, and began to apply puppy dog eyes. QP had a natural aptitude for puppy dog eyes. "Aru, may I ask you to try on this tiara?"

Aru clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I don't know, QP. It might be dangerous, in more ways than one. Besides, I'm a big, macho barbarian, right? It'd take a lot to convince me to profane my mighty thews by wearing a tiara, especially if that tiara might remove said thews."

Aru's concerns were genuine, but there was another factor in the equation. Across the table, Syura was looking at her with desperate eyes, begging her to – just this once – take her side. It played across her conscience; Syura, despite having the authority, hadn't cheated them for the entire game, whereas she and QP had combined forces to bend or ignore the vast majority of the rules.

"Very well. I am not an unreasonable princess, my dear bodyguard; I have heard your concerns, and I will offer you a grand banquet at the royal mansion when this adventure is over. I will also," QP said, untying one of her many ribbons, "offer you your princess's favour, to carry into battle with pride."

Krila shot her hand up. "I, the cleric of the beast god, offer up my body in defence of our princess! I shall try on the tiara, and receive –"

"Krila, you don't have to. You've already earned yourself a box lunch with two cups of pudding."

"But," Krila said, her one uncovered eye glistening with tears, "The game master didn't put any treasure appropriate to my station in the cave."

Syura felt the combined eyes of Aru and QP drilling into her skull. Very deliberately, she rolled a dice behind her screen. "Oh, look! Somebody just made a spot check!"

"How very convenient," Aru murmured.

"The tiara is in fact dangling from a… uh… ebonwood staff of dark power, the likes of which have never been seen before! What mysterious spells could be hidden within?"

"I make a lore che–"

Aru clapped her hand across QP's mouth, and quietly shook her head. "My goodness! Dark Cleric Krilalariat, it seems that your energies have revealed this magical staff, which nobody else could see. Surely you are the destined wielder of this staff."

Krila was innocent to the extreme, but Aru would have been very surprised if she didn't realise that her friends were trying to make it up to her. Her face settled into what, as near as it could muster, was a satisfied smile. QP, Syura, and Aru all looked at each other, having been drawn into a united front of Krila appeasement, and the mood of the room seemed to tend towards reconciliation.

"Alright. I'm going to try on the tiara. Not because I think it's cursed, or a trap, but to show my loyalty to our princess. Also, I could use a class change. These stats are wasted on a barbarian, and this faux fur stuff itches like crazy," Aru said. "Oh… But come to think of it, I beseech thee, my princess: when the royal banquet is thrown, I have two valued guests I would like to bring with me."

"I, Princess QP, accept these terms."

Syura sighed. Aru had offered her a compromise, and she knew it. "I understand. The barbarian Aru takes the tiara and places it on her head. In a blinding flash of light, she becomes smaller, more beautiful. She wears a headdress, and a long black dress covered by an apron; responding to the Princess's wishes, the tiara has transmogrified Aru the Barbarian into an elegant maid."

QP shook her head sadly. "Sorry, Aru," she whispered. "I had a feeling she was going to do this."

"It's fine. I'm wearing a tube top and a loincloth, so anything is an upgrade," the bunny shrugged. "Krila, can you find the maid outfit for me? I need to read up on my new class. It better still be able to use battleaxes."

Aru stood up, and walked over to Syura to collect her character sheet. Casting her eyes around, she gave the diminutive girl a comforting pat on the head. "Sorry, Syura. I got you in on the banquet, at least."

"You did."

"Are you mad?"

"Not really. It's hard to win against QP."

"Hmm… This is…?! My eye! The eye of Krilalaris is reacting!" Krila shouted. Krila was not as good at shouting as QP was, but was by no means bad. "The fingerprints of the creator are inscribed upon this garment!"

"Krila… Sorry. I'm tired. Can you speak actual words and sounds for once?" Syura asked, wearily.

Krila jumped atop the table, brandishing the maid cosplay at Syura. "I serve the dark gods, but that servitude takes many forms! Behold, the insignia of this sealed eye!" She turned out the label with a flourish.

"'Sealed Eye Cosplay Fashions'… Wait, is that you?!" Syura asked, her mouth agape.

"Ohohohoho! Do not think dollmaking is the extent of my power, human! You have my thanks, for you are ignorant of the true dark power of this clothing. For you, it is simply a maid outfit… for me, it was three weeks of relief from the dark hunger that consumes my soul. I feasted on the bread of life, and became stronger than I have ever been before! Ohohohoho!"

Syura blinked. She blinked again. And then, finally, she smiled. "I… see. What a small world. I don't suppose you'd be willing to demonstrate those powers again for me? There are a few things I want to add to my cosplay rack…"

As Syura and Krila began to hammer out the details of a new and flourishing business relationship, Aru turned to QP. "Well, I think the adventure is over for today. I never got to actually use my battleaxe."

"Yeah. I think you'll make a great maid, though. I'll be looking forward to next session," the dog girl said. "I'll braid your hair and tie it with the ribbon you earned, and you can bring me cups of pudding. It'll be great."

"Next time, hm? Well, I suppose I could go for one more."

"Of course! Your princess commands it!"

"That only works in the game, you know."

"Aww…"

Aru hadn't used her battleaxe. But she hadn't used her half-brick in a sock, either. She considered that a good day's adventuring. She hoped that the next time would go just as well.

* * *

 _A/N: Syura's obsession with getting QP into a maid outfit? In-joke. Aru the Barbarian? In-joke. The brick in a sock? That's a discworld reference. I wasn't kidding when I called this memes juice._


	6. Understand

_A/N: The cover art for this story was made for me by the lovely Coffgirl - go check out her deviantart, twitter and so on for cute OJ art and more._

 _This was another stab at getting to understand Syura and QP's relationship. It's a little bit of an interval piece that was more for my benefit than for aesthetic value, but I might as well post it anyway._

* * *

Her hands are cold, but the coffee is hot inside the styrofoam cup. She can't drink fancy coffee. She's ridden out too many nights on instant coffee granules, gotten used to the taste of burnt robusta. She doesn't have the palette for fine arabica, or the wallet. She takes a sip, grimaces, takes another.

"Syura, I don't get why you drink that stuff if you don't like it," QP says. QP has a soda, but she's busying herself with trying to pick the ice cubes out by sucking on them through a straw.

"QP," she says, putting on her lecturing professor voice, "Sometimes, in order to become what you want, you gotta act like you already are that thing. I wanna be a sophisticated lady who can drink coffee, so I'm drinking coffee."

QP scratches her head, takes another bite of her burger. Fidgets in the ugly plastic seats. "I don't get it," she says, finally.

"It's like… if you're trying to level up as a mage in an RPG. At first, you're bad at it, but then, because you cast spells, which is what a mage does, you get good at casting spells because you have lots of practice. So you become a mage!"

QP's ears flicker as the words pass into one and then straight out of the other. Her simplicity is both a blessing and a curse; on one hand, it means she doesn't worry about complicated things. But on the other hand, it means she can't empathise with people who do. It's one of the things that makes her a little distant from everybody, even though she's friendly and cheerful.

But it's not just the complexity of the thought that passes her by. At a time where everybody in school is floundering around in search of their identity, QP already knows hers. She's happy with what she is, what she's to become. The idea that 'you are what you do' is of no use to her; instead, it's 'you do what you are'. Down in the pit of her stomach, Syura squeezes the little ball of envy she has for her best friend a little tighter. If only everybody could be so natural, so easy-going.

"How's the food?" she asks instead.

"Awful. I like chicken better."

"You leave my babies alone. That'd be like me eating rabbit in front of you."

"Why don't they serve pudding? I'd buy it."

Ah, pudding. Syura wondered when the conversation would turn to it. QP's passion for pudding seems to consume everything at some point or another. Pudding is nice. Delicious, even. But Syura can't understand the deep, undying love that QP has for it. It's not like a game, where every line of code has to be scrutinised, where there are a thousands facets and if any of them isn't polished just right, the game as a whole will fail to shine. Pudding is pudding is pudding.

"Didn't you have pudding for lunch, anyway?"

"Two cups," QP nods, proudly. As if it's something to be proud of. "I wanted to give my bread to Krila again, so I packed an extra so I wouldn't get hungry."

"You really do have pudding for brains," Syura replies, affectionately.

That's the problem, in a lot of ways. Syura can't understand pudding. She can't even understand rabbits. But those are the things that QP loves, more than anything else in the world. It's not bad to listen to her talk about them. Her enthusiasm is nothing if not infectious, a beautiful stream of babbling that usually doesn't make any sense. But on some level, pudding is one of the walls that separate them. There's no room in QP's heart for anything else. Not games. Not even Syura.

That's why she's jealous of QP. Because QP doesn't think about the complicated things. The past, the future. She lives in the present, loves in the present. She doesn't know that this can't last. She doesn't know that, sooner or later, they're going to drift apart. No more fights. No more hanging out in terrible burger joints, no eating pudding and playing games late into the night. Just a slow, gradual farewell as they float further and further out of each other's reach, pushed apart by the tides of life.

That isn't what Syura wants. She can't think of anything she wants less. But it's already happening, little by little. That's why she drinks coffee until her hands shake, stays up late into the night typing lines of code to pore over later with fresher eyes. That's why she records every cooking show, scouring them for pudding recipes. She wants to make something that will draw QP closer to her. She wants to become somebody who understands what QP loves. QP can't do it. The clay of her has already set; she is who she is, and she'll never be anybody else. Syura's identity is still being made. She still has time.

"Hey, Syura. Are you alright? You've been quiet for a while."

She can feel the breeze from QP's tail swishing beneath the table. What should she say? The things on her mind aren't the kind of things QP worries about.

"Ah, my tummy hurts. Maybe the food here is bad after all," she shrugs, and hopes her smile is wide enough, her eyes sincere. "Sorry if you were getting bored."

"Why would I get bored? You worry about the stupidest stuff, Syura. I like hanging out with you. I even like watching you play games. You always have the funniest reactions," QP says. "Hey, hey. Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure?"

"I lied earlier when I said I had two puddings for lunch," QP says, winking, and stealthily takes a cup of pudding from her bag. "Here. Maybe it'll ease your tummy ache?"

"It always comes back to pudding with you," Syura sighs, half smiling, half annoyed. The gesture is far from lost on her. She picks up her spoon, and tries, desperately, to understand.

* * *

 _A/N: I was more or less trying to examine the problems of a QP/Syura relationship here. I don't know if I succeeded, but I got something out of it, at least._


	7. Season's Greetings

_A/N: It's Easter, so of course I'm posting a Christmas story. What of it?_

* * *

Snowflakes spiralled down from dark, billowy clouds, dusting the chimneys and rooftops like icing sugar on gingerbread houses. The stars were silent and dim, the moon hid her face; the only light came from the lights strung between lampposts, red-green-red-green, a Christmas wreathe that sat on the shoulders of the entire town.

In short, it was Christmas, the time of year when Aru ceased to be a humble shopkeeper and instead became a bundle of quivering nerves held loosely together by duty, adrenaline and a pair of thigh-high striped stockings. The wonder was not that she managed to deliver presents to worthy children the whole world over, but that she had so far managed to avoid spontaneously combusting from pure, unleaded anxiety.

Being Santa, as it turned out, was a big responsibility. Maybe that was why everybody thought he was fat – so the weight of that responsibility could be spread out over more square inches, like how camels had huge feet to spread their weight out over the sand. Aru, sadly, was not fat, although not for lack of trying. Before she became Santa, she had been adorably plump, the very picture of a snuggly, plushy bunny. Then she went on her first Christmas run, where she'd burned nearly half her body weight in calories in a single night of frantic present distribution. It became clear that the plates of cookies and milk that children obligingly left out were not just a perk of the job, but an essential method of refuelling.

Still, there were perks to the job. For example, she never needed to buy home decoration magazines, because she'd seen the inside of almost every home on planet Earth, and was never short of ideas for funky shoe racks and well-meaning but ultimately foolish DIY projects. There were great travel opportunities, and an unlimited amount of air miles as standard. There was the absolute adoration of everybody under six, the grudging respect of everybody from six to twelve, and the wistful longing of every child who'd been told she didn't exist.

She was taking a break to enjoy one of her perks, although she felt a vague sense of guilt about it. This year had been an easy one. She had, through a mixture of intimidation and persuasion, recruited Nico as Santa's Helper again, and splitting her bag between two bunnies had made the work much faster. She'd still done maybe three quarters of the route herself – Nico would need a lot of practice before she became worthy of wearing Santa's stockings. But it had left her with a little time before the dawn, and that was all she had really wanted.

As a rule, Aru always did her own town last. It didn't really matter, but she felt very strongly that it meant she was living up to some international code of Santa conduct: thou must be impartial, abiding by the letter of the List. Doing her own hometown last left no room for favouring them; she couldn't swap their presents with better ones, because she had no better ones left. She wasn't putting them first in case she couldn't finish her route. It meant she could enjoy the smiles of children around her for the rest of the year, knowing that she needn't feel like she needed to distance herself for the sanctity of her office.

Of course, it followed down the chain. Of all the people in her hometown, she did her friends last. She had stolen across Syura's roof, careful to leave a footprint on her roof with a size nine boot she kept specifically for that purpose. She had shimmied down Krila's chimney holding a wrapped sewing machine close to her chest. Now, finally, she had reached the very last name on her list.

"Merry Christmas, QP," she whispered, pulling the bedroom door shut just enough that the light didn't fall on her friend's face.

Aru was vaguely aware that going into somebody's bedroom at the dead of night to look at them while they slept was edging into weird, stalker-y territory, even if they happened to be your close friend and even if your stated profession was breaking into people's houses to give them things. In her defence, she couldn't help it. QP's house was not very large; she didn't _quite_ live in an actual dog house, but it was getting there. Her kitchen was a clutter of pans with no cupboards for a home, and her living room was more of a storage facility. (The refridgerator, home of pudding, was enshrined in its own little nook, spotlessly clean). As a result, QP had no room for a towering fir to celebrate the holiday. But she kept a bonsai tree on her bedside table, and it had been loving draped in tinsel; it would have to do.

"Sorry I can't come to your Christmas Party," Aru said, her voice even lighter than her footsteps. "I'm always so tired on Christmas Day. Even if I came, I'd just be boring, and haggard. I don't want you to see me like that."

QP said nothing, because she was exploring an enchanted dream world of pudding and jam and mailmen who didn't run quite as fast as she did. It was, of course, phenomenally silly to sit and apologise to a girl who was softly snoring and rolled into a small, snuggable crescent, but Aru was no stranger to doing silly things in the middle of the morning.

It was also, of course, very silly to tiptoe across the floor instead of hovering soundlessly above it, or to speak at all, for fear of outing herself as a cosmic gift entity. Part of her thought it wouldn't be so bad to be caught… after all, who would believe QP if she told anybody? If QP told anybody at all? It would be refreshing to let the secret out, just this once. Refreshing, but impossible.

QP rolled over, her hair spilling over her face, her chin held toward the ceiling like a dog asking for a scratch. Aru sighed. Perhaps another time. Today was still Christmas, and she still had her job to do. Reaching into her sack, she took what she was fairly sure was a monogrammed dessert spoon and slipped it under the bonsai tree, before retreating as quietly as she had come.

In the kitchen, she found the expected plate of cookies and milk (with the obligatory carrot, which she split with the ReBits), and a note, written in QP's childish scrawl, the i's dotted with hearts.

 _Dear Santa,_

 _Hi! I'm QP. Thank you for all the presents you've given me. I wanted to get you a present back, but I didn't know what you'd like, so I left some pudding in the fridge for you instead. You can have as much as you like._

 _Merry Xmas_

Aru smiled to herself. Pudding for Christmas. Of _course_ it was QP's go-to gift. Well, she wasn't complaining. She turned the note over, sourced a pen from a cup that QP had decorated with macaroni and glitter, and began to write.

 _Dear QP,_

 _You're a good kid. Thank you very much for thinking of me. I'll only take one cup of pudding. I need to watch my weight, or I won't be able to fit down the chimney next year. If you keep being good, I might actually stop and say hi in a couple of years when you're all grown up. Until then!_

 _Your friend, Santa_

 _p.s. Don't let Syura catch you under the mistletoe._

She put down the pen, folded the note twice, set it on the table. Took a deep breath, and fought the urge to put the note in her pocket and spirit it away. The second thoughts had come instantly. Was it okay for her to reveal herself, even once QP had grown up? She didn't know. The thought of it seemed cataclismic to her. But so did the thought of more years of secrets. She sighed; the orange dawn had begun to spread like watercolours over the sky. There was no more time to worry about it. She took up her sack, grabbed one of QP's many, many assorted puddings from the fridge, and fled with the last remnants of the night.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Aru woke up, with her phone buzzing like a wasp next to her aching head. A groan escaped her like a prisoner breaking free of its shackles, rumbling all the way through her body.

"H'llo? Who izzit?" she asked, accepting the call. Her words were slurred, her eyes bleary.

" _Aru?"_

"Oh, QP. It's yoooooouuu," Aru replied, although a yawn spirited away the last syllables. "S'rry I couldn't be at the party…"

" _Don't worry. It's fine. Hey, Aru?"_

There was a moment's silence. On the other side of the phone, Aru was sure, QP would be be slowly swishing her tail, her brow scrunched in concentration.

" _You know I can recognise your handwriting, right?"_

There were probably a number of appropriate reactions, none of which Aru did. What she did instead was open her window and launch her phone out of it as hard as possible, before sitting down on her bed and trembling as if she'd jumped in an ice bath.

For Christmas, Aru had gotten a single cup of pudding and a big, big problem. It promised to be an interesting year.

* * *

 _A/N: This story was troublesome, so I just wanted to end it quickly. Upon replaying Xmas Shooting - Scramble!, Aru really isn't very good at keeping her identity under wraps._


End file.
